Idiot
by Fox Moonshadow
Summary: No one wants to be alone, hated, and scorned. Not even someone on top, but maybe this is to drastic. Could be seen as Yaoi or friendship.


It was a bright, sunny, and warm Saturday with a light wind. Perfect for soccer. Most of the kids were outside, playing, laughing, and just having fun inn general. There was only one staying indoors that day. He sat in silence, folding a piece of paper into a small bird. He sighed and stood up, walking to the open window and slipping the faux bird out. He watched it flutter in the light breeze before being blown away and than returned to his little Lego fortress, one hand twirling his snowy locks nervously.

Down on the soccer field, a blonde-haired boy looked up as a sudden chill ran down his spine. He frowned when he spotted a small origami swan fluttering along in the breeze. Reaching up, he snatched it from the air easily and walked to the sidelines, waving for his friends to keep playing without him. He looked down at the swan and glanced over the scribbles on it. Unfolding it, he red the hasty letters. His eyes widened when he finished, his throat suddenly dry as he turned to face the only open window in the building.

He watched the door, waiting, half in hope and half in despair. A minute passed, and than another. The grandfather clock against the wall came to life, announcing the time with oblivious contentment.

One

Florissant lights gleamed off the shining metal in his hand as he lifted it from under the stuffed bear beside him.

Two

He lifted it to his chest, the end held just over his heart. His eyes never left the door, even as he shrugged off the white pajama shirt he was wearing to feel the cold metal.

Three

Tears started slipping down his cheeks, leaving salty trails in their wake. He knew, no one would come find insignificant him.

Four

No one would save him from his own hand, but he still waited. He could wait, just a little longer.

Five

Nearly time now, and still no one had come. His grip tightened, one hand remaining in his hair as his thumb looped over the trigger expertly. It was clear he'd practiced, but his heart had always given way before. Not again.

Six

The children in the field and on the playground froze, standing still and looking around for the source of the loud bang that was still echoing through the trees. A red-haired boy ran over to where he'd last seen his blonde friend, but the other boy was no where to be found. Instead, there was a little black piece of paper crumpled none-to-gently into a ball. He knelt down and picked it up, smoothing it out and reading the white text. Understanding flashed in his eyes as he looked towards the house for a second before lowering his gaze and closing his eyes, A single tear escaped the corner of his eye.

He was numb at first. The first thought to enter his mind was _so this is death?_ Slowly, it registered in his shell-shocked mind that his face was pressed gently against something. The mysterious something was warm and soft and shook occasionally. The shaking helped jar him from his thoughts while something else ran through his hair, though both of his own hands were at his side. Soon, his curiosity over the matter won out over his fatigue and he slowly opened his eyes. The grandfather clock came to life again, announcing that an hour had passed since he'd held the gun to his chest. He stared blankly at black cloth, though his mind whirled with confusion. It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't dead and the 'something' holding him was a person cradling him protectively and running their fingers through his hair. The person was sobbing softly, clearing being careful not to jar him to badly. A soft, familiar voice filled his ears, calling him an idiot in several different languages, including a few he didn't know himself. He knew the voice, though he'd never heard so much as a rumor of the boy holding him so close ever crying before. After a moment's hesitation, he gripped the blonde boy's shirt and apologized softly, both in the blonde's native Russian and his own birth's English.

The red-headed boy standing by the door smiled softly, relief floor his system as he unloaded the full barrel of the gun he'd retrieved after the blonde's rather violent entrance, trying not to look at the door now on the floor. Amazing how much power a friend in danger can give a young boy. The red-head's thoughts turned back to the letter he'd found, his smile falling when he remembered the albino's written words.

'I know where I'll go if I do this, but between the hate and disdain up here I think

I'll be better off down there. Goodbye.'

Thank goodness the blonde had made it in time.

THE END


End file.
